I’ve associated with many “good Joes” over the years. Louis Alacano (father of my childhood best friend), Keith Archibald (high school science teacher) , Drs. Phillip Flammer, Hugh Baird and James Baer (BYU professors), Larry Landauer (owner, Flora Lan Nursery), and Ralph Aardema (principal, Ben Lomond High School) are just a few of the “good Joes” who have blessed my life. There have been many. There still are. Lance Hislop, the man to whom I am married, is certainly a good Joe and clearly a huge blessing. (Huge referring to the considerable size of the blessing he is in my life; no reference intended to his girth.)

But this letter is not about me.

Today I am extremely grateful for the good Joes in my daughter’s life.

A research brief authored by David Murphey, Ph.D., Tawana Bandy, B.S., Hannah Schmitz, B.A., and Kristin A. Moore, Ph.D. outlines the following key findings about the importance of non-parental adults in the life of a teen:

KEY FINDINGS

Children and adolescents who have a formal or informal “mentor-like” relationship with someone outside their home are less likely to have externalizing behavior problems (bullying) and internalizing problems (depression).

This group is also more likely to complete tasks they start, remain calm in the face of challenges, show interest in learning new things, volunteer in the community, engage in physical activities, participate in out-of-school time activities, and be engaged in school.

Additionally, those who have a caring adult outside the home are more likely to talk with their parents about “things that really matter.” These results suggest that mentor-like adults outside the home can be a resource in promoting positive well-being for children and adolescents.

Good Joes have significant beneficial influences on the lives of impressionable adolescents. Good, GREAT actually, Joes have significantly benefitted my Grace.

Joe Drago began blessing Grace before she came to Earth and will probably continue blessing her until he leaves this Earth. While she was in the womb he and his darling wife Michelle played Pinochle with Lance and I. If playing Pinochle did not bless the in utero Grace directly, the distraction it provided for me from the ever-present nausea had to have had some indirect beneficial effect. Joe has always teased and believed in Grace. When she was in junior high he taught her to referee soccer and requested her as his partner. In her early high school years he taught her to drive a stick shift—a true act of courage and love! All her years Joe has taught her that she is important and capable.

It is hard to say when Joe Maylin (and his darling wife Heidi) began blessing Grace’s life but it is not hard to see the blessing they have been. The Maylins have enveloped Grace in a huge figurative envelope of love and acceptance; they adore her…and she adores them. Joe, a leader in our local congregation, feels that associating with Grace has been one of the great blessings of his current ecclesiastical assignment. He told us they are considering including “Grace” in the name of the as-yet-unborn daughter Heidi is carrying. Grace knows that Joe is an ardent member of her fan club and that validating knowledge is priceless.

Justin Ropelato, whose middle name is Joe, also belongs on the list of “good Joes” who have benefited our daughter. Blessed with a personality that teens trust and a darling wife, Natalie, that trusts him, Justin has been at many crossroads in Grace’s life. She let him in at a time when no one else was allowed into her life and has probably told him things that no one else knows. They’ve walked many miles and talked many hours together. Each step and each chat builds Grace as does the knowledge that Justin is always willing to walk and talk with her.

When Joe Giordano and his wonderful wife Crystal, entered our lives our world changed. In the pre-Joe life I was lost in the Weber County livestock world. I perceived people as nice but distant and I had many more questions than answers. Fueled by a desire to help kids and equipped with a warm and generous personality, Joe established the Better Bacon Bureau 4-H club and opened it to everyone. Soon the club had almost 50 members. We joined and almost immediately Joe took Grace under his wing. He gave her responsibility, experience, and confidence. Last year Joe bought Grace’s market lamb. There were nearly 500 animals sold at the action and Joe chose to buy Grace’s. Money speaks and, at that moment, Joe’s money spoke loudly and clearly to Grace. We are so grateful to Joe for his financial generosity and for the message his money gave to our Grace.

Grace’s pig died last week. Her show pig, the one she paid $300 for last month and which ate $35 worth of food, is dead. We are not sure why it died but we are sure it is dead. Gone is her pig, her $335, and her income source for 2017. [Dead pigs do not sell well at the Weber County Fair FFA Livestock Auction.] Immediately she called Joe.

Three days later he called back. “We found you a pig,” he said. “You can come get it today if you’d like.” I have no idea what mountains he moved to find a show pig for Grace—at this time of year all the high quality show animals have long since been spoken for—but we are so appreciative of the miracle he made happen. Not only did he find Grace a great pig—arguably better than the one that died—but he also made arrangements for the pig to be tagged (a requirement to participate in the fair) and when we asked him how much Grace owed him, he waved her off. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We just want you to do well,” Crystal added. Joe Giordano is undisputedly a “good Joe”.

My life has been blessed by good Joes. Grace’s life has been blessed by good men named Joe (…and Justin). Probably your life, as well, has been sweetly seasoned by good Joes. Associating with good Joes is a blessing we can receive. Being a “good Joe” is a blessing we can give. All of us.

Hoity-toity? Me? Me, who has spent hundreds of hours shoveling manure out of cow stalls? Me, whose hourly wage is less than the plumber who unclogs my drain? Me who cannot seem to eat a meal without spilling on the front of my shirt? His label confused me. There are a lot of uncomplimentary adjectives that accurately describe me but hoity-toity was not one I thought applied.

Clearly Brother Day did not like me. Truth be told, I did not like him either. I thought he was a loud, obnoxious, self-righteous, old know-it-all.

Hum…..

As much as I did not like Brother Day, I liked even less the idea that he did not like me. Unacceptable. So I decided to change the situation. “You will like me, you old codger,” I vowed, “whether you want to or not.”

I decided to convert him with kindness. In much the same way as time and dripping water can wear a hole into even the hardest of rocks, I would patiently, persistently, consistently care. Powered by a determination to win him over, I launched my attack.

“Good morning Brother Day,” I greeted him at the beginning of our church service.

“Have a good afternoon Brother Day,” I said to him as we left the church building.

Sunday after Sunday, week after week, month after month, I made a point of smiling at and pleasantly addressing Brother Day. I looked for ways to and reasons to interact with him. I heard that his wife had loved flowers so I brought him a bouquet of daffodils. During a Sunday School lesson he mentioned a yards-long family pedigree chart he’d made so I asked to see it. Knowing the power of children to soften hearts, I took my little ones to visit him. While in his home I saw photos of his family and asked him to tell me about them.

Kindness. Caring. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Initially my greetings elicited grunts He really did not like me. Gradually I got smiles. Eventually I got hugs.

Hearts changed. His heart AND mine. I grew to love Brother Day. We all did. We came to appreciate his candid comments and his expansive intellect. We learned to love his gruff exterior and his marshmallow-soft, elephant-sized heart.

And he loved us. He told Lance what a wonderful wife he had and he told me what wonderful children we had. He especially loved Grace. “She is special,” he told us. “She is brilliant and has a powerful spirit.” [She was a preschooler at the time.]

Visits to Brother Day’s home became a regular Sunday ritual for us. Initiated by a desire to “convert” him, the motivation converted to a desire to spend time with him. We truly enjoyed hanging out with Brother Day.

As time progressed his health regressed. Brother Day was unable to attend church and then he was unable to leave the hospital bed that had been set up in his living room. We were unable to leave him alone; our visits continued. I have tender memories of sitting by the side of his bed, holding his gnarled hand, hearing his raspy voice share his still strong opinions. The drip, drip, drip of kindness had worn a hole in both our stubborn hearts and had somehow forged a stream between them. Caring connected us, deepened us, enriched us.

At Brother Day’s funeral, his family sought us out, specifically thanking us for being his friends.

I learned a lot from Brother Day. He was a spiritual and intellectual giant, as firm as the mountains around us. He was also susceptible to kindness. We all are. Kindness changes hearts. All hearts. It changes hearts on both sides; the hearts of those who get and those who give. His. Mine. Yours too, if you let it.

Since Brother Day’s passing I have applied The Brother Day Principle several times and it was worked every time. Every time. Not just old men…neighbors, bosses, young children, hard-to-love teens, hoity-toity women….all of us are susceptible. Proactive campaigns to be persistently, consistently kind produce positive results. Hearts change. All of them.

I celebrate motherhood today. Of all my blessings—and there are millions—I count our children among the greatest. They bring me more joy that hiking in a southern Utah slot canyon wearing Chacos, more joy than eating fresh blueberries directly off the bush, more joy than earning an unexpected A on organic chemistry, more joy than making the final payment on a house. There is nothing on this Earth that brings me more joy than family. And, as my father-in-law frequently reminds me when we play Pinochle, “You cannot have a family without a dad.”

So, on this Mother’s Day, I am grateful for Lance. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, my dear man, for making me a Mother. It is perhaps the greatest gift you could have given me.